


you're the one i gotta have

by blamefincham



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-20
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-10-19 16:46:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10643970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blamefincham/pseuds/blamefincham
Summary: Cam frowns. “Yeah. I guess I don’t think anybody would care, but being young guys, I can see not wanting to—like, rock the boat, or whatever. And not just saying ‘I’m gay,’ but ‘I’m gay and dating a teammate’?”Brandon nods. “It would be easier if somebody else went first,” he says slowly.Cam squints at him. “I supp…” and then his expression changes to one of horror. “Oh, no.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [void_fish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/void_fish/gifts).



> Thank you to PB for outlining this with me at a sushi restaurant in Philadelphia, thank you to Jenny for cheerleading and betaing as you always do, and I'm sorry to Jay for torturing you, except for how I'm not at all <3
> 
> Title from Mary Lambert's "Heart On My Sleeve."
> 
> [ _Warning: this story contains some brief stereotypical misconceptions about homosexuality (ie: conflating being gay with liking clothes, being vain, etc). Everybody means well, and it’s treated as dumb in-universe, but better safe than sorry._ ]

“I still say you cheated,” Brandon grumbles as he fishes out his wallet.

“How do you even cheat at a shootout contest?” Cam fires back. “Jesus, you’re the sorest loser on the planet. All you owe me is lunch and you’re acting like it’s your firstborn.”

“I don’t care about the _money_ ,” Brandon says, affronted. “I’m not cheap like you. It just goes against my morals to reward cheaters.”

“Oh my God,” Cam complains. Brandon’s pretty sure that’s mostly directed at him, but Cam also seems to be having some trouble pulling out his unreasonably heavy chair because his hands are full with his tray and his drink. Brandon’s got a free hand so he tugs the chair out for him, because he’s a nice guy who helps his friends even when they’re hurling abuse at him. 

“Thank you,” Cam says, and then he launches back into his tirade. “What stupid thing do you even think I cheated on? Do I even _want_ to know?”

“You were offsides,” Brandon answers promptly.

Cam makes a noise that can only be described as an indignant squawk. “There’s no fucking offsides in a shootout competition! You’re just making shit up now!” Brandon started laughing halfway through that accusation, which is kind of a dead giveaway; Cam throws a napkin at him. “You’re the fucking worst. Why did I even _want_ to have lunch with you? I should’ve said, ‘Dubs, if I win, you have to promise never to have lunch with me again.’”

“You’d miss me too much, Cammy,” says Brandon with a grin that shows all of his teeth. 

“No,” Cam counters, which is an excellent argument, poetic in its succinctness—especially when it’s punctuated by him digging into his pasta bowl with abandon. 

Both of their phones buzz on the table, which is generally indicative of something happening in the group chat. Brandon picks his up; it looks like a few of the young guys are ganging up on Alex for admiring himself in a store window as they walked down High Street. _With this + your insta i’m actually worried about your head getting so big you float away_ , Seth has commented. Brandon taps the little heart to like it, then opens Alex’s Instagram to find some chirping material of his own. 

He doesn’t have to go far: the most recent picture is an official Jackets one that Alex has way over-filtered to make himself look more tan. Brandon chuckles at it, and when Cam makes a curious noise, Brandon shows him his phone screen. “Check the filter on that,” Brandon says with a grin.

“Unbelievable,” Cam says, shaking his head. “Cool of him to show his support, though.”

Brandon turns his phone back around and squints at the picture a little more closely. He’d missed the pride tape entirely; it didn’t look nearly as bright with the filter on. “Huh,” says Brandon. “Yeah, it is.” Magnanimously, he decides that gets Alex a pass on filter-related chirping this time. He clicks his phone off and sets it down, but when he looks up at Cam, Cam looks thoughtful.

“You know, it’s probably just the European thing, but sometimes he and Bill make me wonder,” Cam says.

It takes a minute for Brandon to parse that, but once he does, he leans forward, immediately curious. “Wait, you mean—wonder, like—?”

“Yeah, I mean, I dunno,” Cam says, shrugging. “They’re…really close?”

“They are,” Brandon agrees. “And they go shopping all the time.”

“Okay, but that’s not—”

“—I _know_ ,” Brandon interrupts, rolling his eyes. “But just, that, plus the pride tape and the Instagram filters and stuff.” Brandon picks up his phone again and scrolls down Alex’s Instagram, thinking. “It would suck if, like, they were, and they didn’t feel like they could tell us.”

Cam frowns. “Yeah. I guess I don’t think anybody would care, but being young guys, I can see not wanting to—like, rock the boat, or whatever. And not just saying ‘I’m gay,’ but ‘I’m gay and dating a teammate’?”

Brandon nods. “It would be easier if somebody else went first,” he says slowly.

Cam squints at him. “I supp…” and then his expression changes to one of horror. “Oh, no.”

“Somebody older, more established, who wouldn’t mind the criticism.”

“No,” Cam repeats. “You’re not even—” 

“And if somebody could break the dating a teammate barrier at the same time, I mean, that would just make it all easier.” 

Cam looks almost shocked now, which is stupid. Brandon’s had much crazier ideas; he should be used to this by this point. “Wait, _what_?”

“If a couple of older, established guys—leaders on the team, who other guys look up to—if a couple of those kind of guys turned out to be dating…well, that would make anybody who was worried feel better,” Brandon says. 

“You’re fucking with me,” Cam says, tone suddenly flat.

“ _What_?” says Brandon. He’s actually a little offended. “No, I’m not. I don’t fuck around about shit like this, you know I take the A seriously.”

Cam raises his eyebrows. “Um, faking a gay relationship is a little above and beyond the call of duty.”

“Anything worth doing is worth doing right,” Brandon counters. 

Cam is still just staring at him, so Brandon decides to break out the big guns. He lowers his head and looks up at Cam through his lashes. “C’mon. Don’t you want to help out our teammates? I’ll owe you one big time.” 

“You cannot Bambi-eyes me into pretending to date you,” Cam says. 

Brandon waits. They stare each other down for almost a minute before Cam groans and buries his face in his hands. “We don't even know if they're actually dating! This is the worst fucking idea you’ve _ever_ had,” he says, muffled.

“That’s not a no,” Brandon points out.

“No, it isn’t,” Cam confirms. Brandon does a fist-pump under the table.

—

“So I think it needs a codename,” Brandon says as soon as Cam answers the phone.

“What the fuck, Dubi,” Cam complains. “I was trying to nap.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Brandon pauses, but then he figures that Cam’s awake now anyway, so: “Really though, it needs a codename so we can talk about it when other guys are around without them knowing.”

“What needs a codename,” says Cam, flat. 

“The whole, fostering inclusivity and leading by example so the Swedes feel comfortable enough to tell us about their relationship…thing,” Brandon prompts.

“Right, that thing where we pretend to date,” Cam summarizes. “I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

“I came up with it yesterday!” Brandon scoffs.

“Yep,” Cam agrees. 

Brandon rolls his eyes, even though Cam can’t see it. “So anyway, codename. Ummm, Operation…Swedish Meatballs?” Brandon suggests, then starts giggling, because he’s still 14 at heart. 

Cam’s laughing too, because so is he. Probably he would’ve high-fived Brandon if they were in the same room. “That’s funny, but it’s too obvious. What about like, Operation Rainbow? We can say it’s like a charity we’re doing a thing for if anybody overhears.” 

“That’s why you’re the smart one,” Brandon says.

“Somebody has to be,” Cam says, then sighs. “Okay, fuck it. How are we gonna like, do this, I guess. If we’re really going to.”

“Of course we’re really going to. Glad to see you getting into it,” says Brandon, punching the air since Cam isn’t here to make fun of him for it. He’d been half-worried Cam was going to try to wimp out and then he’d have to goad him back into it, and time’s a-wasting here. 

“We obviously can’t just get up and tell the team we’re dating out of nowhere, they’d assume we had some weird bet,” Cam points out.

“You’re right. We’ve gotta, like, ease them into it.”

“Get them used to the idea.”

“Yeah,” Brandon agrees. He thinks for a minute and then suggests, “We could start carpooling to all the team stuff?”

“A lot of guys do that, though,” Cam says.

“Yeah, but our places aren’t like, in a line or whatever that makes that make sense,” Brandon says. 

“‘ _In a line or whatever,_ ’” Cam repeats mockingly, and Brandon seriously considers hanging up on him, except that Cam is kind of doing him a favor with this whole thing, so probably he shouldn’t. 

“Shut up, I’m right.”

“Yeah, but…I don’t know, isn’t that kind of—too subtle for you? If we were, you know, for real, there’s no way you wouldn’t be more obvious than that.”

“You think I’d want to show you off, huh? You wanna be my trophy boyfriend, Cammy?” Brandon coos. He’d respond to the chirp about his lack of subtlety, but it’s just true.

“Fuck yes, I’m gorgeous,” Cam says. “You’re punching way above your weight here.” 

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re punching above your height,” Brandon fires back. 

“Short jokes! Original!” Cam replies, but Brandon can hear the irritation in his voice. “Anyway, dumbass, my _point_ was, if we’re gonna sell this, we gotta do more than just show up places together.”

“So I’ll hold the door for you and touch your butt more, I dunno, that’s date-y,” Brandon says, flapping a hand. 

“The romance is dead and it hasn’t even started,” Cam deadpans. 

—

They don’t get much else accomplished on the phone, but at least now Brandon has some next steps. He picks Cam up for the game against the Panthers the next day and, just as he promised, holds the door for him when they get into the locker room.

“Thanks, babe,” Cam says flatly over his shoulder. Jack chuckles, which probably means they’re not being very convincing. Maybe Cam was right about the subtlety thing.

“No problem, hun,” says Brandon with a smile, slapping Cam’s ass but like—gently, ish. He actually wasn’t being sarcastic, but a couple different guys are laughing now, and Cam’s raising his eyebrows as if to say _See?_

Of course, Brandon’s never met a challenge he didn’t grab by the balls as literally as possible. Guys are laughing because their fake relationship isn’t convincing? Okay, he’ll _make_ it convincing.

It’s pretty easy to flirt with Cam the way he might with a girl he’s just started dating. Brandon sets his hand on the small of Cam’s back when he moves past him in the lunch line, even though there was plenty of room to not do that, and then he sits next to him, too, in Matty’s usual seat. 

Nobody seems to pay that much mind, so Brandon resolves to make it even bigger. When they’re all getting suited up for the game, Brandon notices Cam is talking to Jonesy about something, and his Underarmor is hanging in his stall unattended. Perfect.

Brandon snags it off the hanger, then glances around the room. “Yo, Hartsy, keep away,” he calls, then tosses the shirt to him. Cam turns around, probably to roll his eyes, and then notices whose stall Brandon is standing in.

“Are you twelve?” Cam complains. He gets up and walks over to Hartsy, sticking his hand out like he’s just going to give it back.

Hartsy looks like he’s considering it for a second, then tosses it to Andy instead. “Sorry, little bro,” he says to Cam with a grin. 

“We’re not brothers anymore, I’m disowning you,” Cam declares. He rounds on Andy, but Andy’s already handing it off back to Brandon. 

Brandon holds the shirt above his head and dangles it in Cam’s direction. “Come and get it,” he teases.

Cam’s been Brandon’s liney, on and off, for the better part of four years. He reads the play, all right: he comes marching up to Brandon and, as Brandon raises the shirt higher, gets right up in his personal space.

Brandon blinks. Cam’s face is really close to his, and he looks a little pissed, and Brandon probably shouldn’t find that attractive, but…well. He lowers his arm enough that Cam can snatch the shirt from his grip: which he does, then hip checks Brandon into the stall with the merciless ferocity of someone with a very low center of gravity. 

A couple guys start laughing and the tension, such as it is, is broken; everyone goes back to whatever they were doing before Brandon made a scene. That little moment with Cam is poking at his brain, but Brandon figures it was a weird conditioned response: if you flirt with somebody, of course you’re going to think they’re hot. It’s like that science guy’s dogs—repeated behavior tricks your brain. At least he's pretty sure that’s how it works.

More importantly, Brandon catches Nick giving him an appraising look. When he sees Brandon looking back, Nick raises an eyebrow but looks away, and Brandon thinks: victory.

—

The door-opening, butt-touching, and general flirting in the locker room are fun and easy, but they don’t appear to be accomplishing much in terms of convincing people. In retrospect, Brandon realizes that's probably because they do most of that shit anyway, as does the rest of the team.

His opportunity to escalate things comes a couple days later, when Wenny is deep in conversation with Saader and Fligs about some liney stuff. That means Bill is, for once, not attached to Alex's hip like they’re conjoined twins or something.

Brandon crosses the locker room to sit down next to him, then jostles him with his shoulder in greeting. “What’s up, Dubi?” Bill says, looking up at him as he unstraps an elbow pad.

“Got any plans this afternoon?” Brandon asks.

Bill looks a little confused. That’s probably because they don’t usually hang out much, but it’s cool, Brandon thought this through. “Uh, no, why?” 

“I need your help,” Brandon confesses. He slings an arm around Bill’s shoulders and leans in so he can talk more quietly; gamely, Bill inclines his head in Brandon’s direction too. “I need a gift for this person I'm…Well, you know. For this, um, person. And you’ve got good taste, and you can keep a secret. Go shopping with me?”

There was absolutely no need to whisper any of that, but Brandon’s playing things up a little so that in case Alex looks over, he can scan for signs of jealousy. In any case, Bill is smiling again. “Okay, sure. Let me finish getting changed and we can go?”

“Perfect, thanks, man,” says Brandon, squeezing his shoulder. He lingers for a second, glancing at Alex, but Alex doesn’t look over, and it’s going to get weird in a second, so he pulls away. 

To Alex’s right, though, is Cam, and he is looking over—frowning a little, too. Probably playing up some jealousy for the act, Brandon figures. He flashes Cam a grin and a thumbs up, and Cam rolls his eyes and goes back to changing. They’ve really got this down.

—

It is, Brandon has to admit, just a bit awkward hanging out one on one with Bill, which he’s pretty sure he has never done before. But Bill is a good sport, and as they’re in the car on the way to Easton, he drums his fingers on the windowsill and asks, “So, what kind of a gift are you thinking? What’s the occasion?”

“Uh, I don’t know, I just…” Brandon scratches the back of his neck, trying to think of a good reason. “It’s not, like, their birthday, or anything, I just…Want to spoil them a little, you know?”

He glances over. Bill is smiling. “Sure, makes sense. Have you thought about, like, perfume? Or if she has a scent she usually wears, sometimes they make other stuff.”

This is it. Brandon takes a deep breath, fixes his eyes on the road, and says, “Uh, well, it would be cologne, but maybe.”

It is very quiet in the car, for just a second. “Oh,” Bill says, sounding a little stunned. But, to his credit, he recovers quickly. “Okay, so, cologne maybe, or a new wallet?”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Brandon says slowly. He chances a glance at Bill as he turns into the parking lot, and Bill makes eye contact with him, smiles, and nods in an encouraging sort of way. 

The easy way Bill handled that makes Brandon feel warm all over, which is stupid because it wasn’t even a real coming out. Brandon really hopes that this whole charade helps the Swedes—they’re good kids. They deserve to feel this way too.

—

He and Bill wander Easton for an hour or so, and they end up in this hip looking little store that sells solid colognes. Brandon sniffs almost all of them, making Bill smell the weird ones, until he finds one he really likes that also reminds him of Cam’s aftershave. It’s a kind of spicy, earthy scent, and he smells it twice before deciding that he’s found his gift.

After he takes Bill home, Brandon thinks for a long time about how to give it to Cam. Wrapping it would be stupid because it isn’t his birthday, and also Brandon doesn’t own any wrapping paper and has never wrapped a gift in his life. But he could write him a note, maybe. 

He digs in his desk until he finds the box of stationery his mom gave him once as a pointed reminder to write thank you notes, which he has never used. But it’s nice enough, simple, and Brandon writes on one of the cards, ' _You smell, so here, try this. Just kidding_ — _I saw this and decided I wanted to spoil you a little._ ’ After some deliberation, he signs it with a heart and the letter B.

He stashes the tin of cologne and the note in Cam’s locker the next morning, on the shelf he can actually reach and everything, like a good boyfriend. Cam finds it right away—he reads the note and turns and looks at Brandon, eyebrows raised. 

Brandon shrugs, then smiles and looks down. He finds he’s already blushing, which is good, because that’s hard to fake. When he looks up, he can see Cam is smiling too—a small, pleased thing that makes Brandon's stomach turn over. 

But Brandon loves giving people gifts. That’s all it is. He looks over at Bill, then, to see if he noticed—and it looks like he did, because he is openly staring at Brandon. Once they make eye contact, he mouths, ' _Cam?_ ’

Brandon—well, Brandon grins at him, fierce and proud, and goes back to getting ready. Now Bill knows, and mission halfway accomplished. Brandon is _so_ good at this.

—

“Tell me I’m the best boyfriend ever,” Cam says, falling into step with Brandon in the hallway to the trainer’s room.

“You’re the best boyfriend ever,” Brandon echoes obediently. He doesn’t have a lot to compare Cam to, since it’s not like he’s ever had a boyfriend before, but Cam did bring him coffee and his favorite strawberry protein shake when he picked him up for their early morning flight to New York last week, so he’s doing pretty great. Brandon’s easy to please.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what makes me the best?”

Brandon slings his arm around Cam’s waist and tugs him into his side. “Isn’t it just who you are as a person, sweetheart?” he coos. Cam shoves him, half-heartedly trying to get away, but Brandon just holds him tighter. “‘Cause it definitely isn’t your sparkling personality.”

“Ugh,” Cam complains. “No, okay, listen to this: I stole Zach’s phone during footy.”

“And now you’re gonna give it to me? Stolen gifts, very badass,” Brandon says approvingly. 

“No, dumbass. I stole it because his passcode is 8888, because he’s a child. And also because he hangs out with the Swedes a lot, so I figured I could check and see if those guys had any plans the next couple of days that we could, you know, happen to also be at, holding hands and shit.”

Brandon is thoroughly impressed. He pulls Cam closer, squeezes his hip with the hand already resting on it. “You _are_ the best boyfriend ever.” 

“I know,” says Cam smugly. “Anyway, jackpot, they’re getting dinner at Mitchell’s downtown around six tomorrow. I already made us a reservation.” 

“So really, this conversation is your roundabout way of asking me out on a date,” Brandon says, a grin spreading across his face. “Why yes, Cameron, I’d be _delighted_ to join you. And hey, since you did the asking, that means you’re paying, right? That’s how that works?” 

“What!” Cam says, stopping short. “I risked my life gathering that intel, and you expect me to pay for your dinner too?”

“I’m gonna get steak _and_ lobster,” says Brandon dreamily, and then he takes off running down the hallway before Cam tries to beat his ass.

—

“I can’t see shit,” Cam complains, trying to shade his eyes a little. 

“That’s probably because you’re too short,” Brandon says, and when Cam turns around to glare at him, Brandon opens his arms in a gesture of innocence. “Hey, you walked right into that one, don’t blame me.”

“You’re not getting a second date,” Cam says darkly, turning back to look into the window again. He’s trying to see if the rest of the guys are here like they were supposed to be, and if so, where they are, but he’s not having much luck.

“Let’s just go in. If we walk by them on the way to our table, then we walk by them; if not we’ll find a reason to later,” Brandon says. 

Cam turns around to frown at him again. “A logical suggestion? Coming from you? Are you feeling okay?” 

“ _You’re_ the one who isn’t getting a second date,” Brandon retorts.

Cam laughs, but he steps away from the window. Then he offers his hand to Brandon. “You ready for this?”

They’d discussed hand-holding on the way over; they both agree that they’ve been too subtle and it’s time to up the ante a little, but there’s really not a way of coming back from this once the other guys see them having dinner by themselves, dressed up nice, holding hands. Brandon takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders, and laces his fingers with Cam’s. It’s warm and dry and completely different from holding hands with a girl.

“Fuck yeah, let’s do it,” he says, and then he holds the door for Cam with his other hand, because he’s a fucking gentleman.

As Cam talks to the hostess about their reservation, Brandon scans the restaurant. It’s a little easier from inside, and—there, towards the middle, out of view of the window, is the group of young guys from the team, eight or so by the looks of it. 

He squeezes Cam’s hand; once Cam looks up at him, Brandon inclines his head toward the table of their teammates. Cam has to stand on his tip-toes to see them, and Brandon struggles not to laugh at him, but once he does he nods at Brandon, squeezes his hand back. 

“Right this way,” says the hostess, and as luck would have it, she heads straight for the middle of the restaurant. Cam leads the way after her, and yeah, okay, fine, maybe Brandon is squeezing his hand a little tight. Whatever. This is kind of scary.

When they approach the table of their teammates, it abruptly goes quiet. Brandon can see Harry raising his hand out of the corner of his eye, and then Boone elbowing him. Brandon makes a show of noticing them, giving them an awkward nod of acknowledgement; it’s returned by a couple of guys—Seth, Josh, Alex. 

And then it’s over: they pass the group of guys and end up at a table of their own a ways away. Since Cam was in the lead, he ends up in the seat that can see the other guys, but he knows Brandon well enough to immediately start narrating.

“Well, they’re talking again, that’s a good sign, right?”

“Are any of them looking over here?” Brandon asks. “Fuck, that was awkward.”

“Maybe? And I don’t know what you expected; I’d be surprised too if I were them,” Cam says, returning his gaze to Brandon.

It’s a good point. Brandon shrugs, and looks down at his menu. He’s fiddling with the edge of it when he feels Cam reaching out to hold his hand again.

“In case any of them look over,” Cam says reasonably. “And also, stop freaking out. They’re already back to normal.”

Brandon chances a glance over his shoulder. Cam’s telling the truth; no one’s looking over at the moment: Alex and Bill are huddled together over a phone, Seth’s telling Ryan a story that involves a lot of enthusiastic gesturing, Zach and Josh are listening in on Seth's story, and Boone’s showing Scott something on his phone that they’re both laughing at. 

It’s stupid to feel this relieved over something like this, but Brandon—well, he does. He relaxes and turns back around, to Cam with his eyebrows raised, obviously on the brink of an ‘I told you so,’ and Brandon’s not about to let that fly.

“So, steak _and_ lobster?” he says cheerfully.

“You don’t even want that much food, you’re just trying to make a point,” Cam complains.

—

They end up getting the porterhouse for two and sharing a lobster tail, which is absolutely the kind of thing Brandon would only normally do on a date. It feels a little over the top, but when Josh 'casually’ passes their table on an extremely circuitous route to the bathroom, Brandon’s glad they did it. 

“Hi, Andy,” Brandon says loudly as Josh walks past. Cam snorts. “Really subtle,” Brandon adds quietly.

“He takes after you,” Cam says with a grin.

Brandon would kick him under the table if this were not a very romantic occasion. But it is, so instead he says, “More Hartsy, I think.”

“You co-parent. It’s cute,” Cam replies.

“You aren’t jealous of another man co-parenting with your boyfriend?” Brandon jokes.

Cam’s expression looks a little strange, but it smooths over so fast Brandon figures it was a trick of the light. “Better him than me,” Cam says easily. “Andy’s a hellion, I don’t wanna be responsible for that.”

“Oh, so you’re going to be the cool stepdad when he comes to stay with us, make me be the bad cop?” Brandon fires back. “Thanks for the help, deadbeat.”

“Like I said, not my responsibility,” Cam says. He sits up a little straighter and peers over Brandon’s head. “They’re gone, by the way.”

“Fuck,” says Brandon immediately, sitting back in his chair. “I think we really convinced them.”

“Well, we did walk in holding hands,” Cam says. “There’s kind of only one way to interpret that.”

Brandon nods, then feels his phone buzz in his pocket. Since he’s not putting on a show anymore, he pulls it out to check it. It’s a text from Murrs; it says simply ' _Happy for you guys._ ’

He looks up to show Cam, but he’s looking at his phone too. “Murrs text you too?” Brandon asks, and Cam nods.

“We’ve got a good team, B,” Cam says quietly.

—

Later that night—after Cam had walked Brandon to his door and given him an obnoxious, smacking good night kiss on the cheek—Brandon gets a text from him that reads, ‘ _So how long before the whole team knows?_ ’

And…shit. That’s an excellent point, and something Brandon hadn’t thought of at all. ‘ _Hartsy probably already does_ ,’ he texts back, grimacing.

Brandon can see the little dots that mean Cam’s typing, but he stays typing for long enough that Brandon clicks his phone screen off and paces around the couch for something to do with his nervous energy. On lap two it buzzes at him and he almost falls over grabbing for it. ‘ _Guess we should bite the bullet then,_ ’ it reads.

Brandon takes a deep breath. ‘ _Yep,_ ’ he replies. ‘ _I’ll do it since the whole thing was my idea. Tomorrow after praccy?_ ’

Cam replies right away this time with a single thumbs up emoji. Brandon pockets his phone and tries hard not to think about how he wants to throw up a little bit. 

It’s hours later, when Brandon’s climbing into bed and plugging in his phone, that he gets another text from Cam. ‘ _It’s gonna be fine, right?_ ’ it says, no emoji.

Brandon stares at his screen, trying to figure out how to respond. He feels guilty for dragging Cam into this, but glad that Cam is opening up to him like this. But that’s kind of a difficult thing to put into words.

Eventually, he picks through the emoji screens until he finds the one of two guys holding hands and sends that over. It’s not a yes or a no, because Brandon can’t see the future, but it’s—a show of support, with bonus gay implications.

Cam sends it back to him almost at once. It makes Brandon feel better, anyway.

—

It’s maybe one of the worst practices of Brandon’s career. His actual on-ice output is fine, but he feels so nervous the whole time. He hadn’t wanted to talk before practice because he wanted them to be able to bolt right away if it went poorly, but now he’s kind of regretting that decision.

When Torts blows his whistle and yells for them to pack it in, the butterflies in Brandon’s stomach multiply a thousandfold. He actually might be sick, right here on the ice—which is when Cam skates up next to him. His expression is solemn when he looks Brandon in the eye, and they just stand there for several seconds…until out of nowhere, Cam rears back and smacks Brandon in the ass with his stick, as hard as he can. 

“ _Ouch_ ,” Brandon growls. “Why you little…” Cam has already taken off, scared for his life as he should be, and who would Brandon be if he didn’t chase after him?

Brandon isn’t dumb enough to not recognize that as the obvious distraction it is, but it does work: chasing after Cam and then jawing at him carries him off the ice and into the locker room. He looks around as he starts taking off his gear—almost all the guys are still in the room, but they haven’t let the media in yet. It’s really now or never.

Brandon bangs his stick on the side of his stall and calls out, “Hey, I got something to say.”

It doesn’t quiet down right away; it’s a room full of hockey players. But a couple more bangs of his stick and a couple guys elbowing their neighbors, and it’s quiet enough that Brandon can do what he needs to. “So,” he says, and then he rips off the band-aid: “Cam and I are together. Like, together-together. We wanted you guys to know, but please don’t let it get outside this locker room, all right? And if you’ve got a problem with it…then work out your shit on your time, I don’t wanna hear about it. That’s all.”

He’s expecting cat-calls and heckling, maybe a couple of guys who look uncomfortable—but instead, the locker room is very quiet for about two seconds. And then Nick is bounding across the room to give him a bear hug, and everything descends into chaos. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Nick says, which is stupid, because he’s _younger_ than Brandon, but it’s even stupider how good that makes Brandon feel. Saader reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, offers Brandon a grin, and he can hear Jack asking Cam “Holy shit, _really_?” in what sounds like a sincerely excited voice. 

It seems like every guy on the team wants to come up and wish them well, and it takes Brandon about five times as long to get out of his clothes as it usually does. At the end of it all, he feels—well, if it were real, he’d feel a little overwhelmed but also so lucky to be on this team, but it being what it is, he mostly just feels super guilty.

—

“I don’t think it’s working,” Brandon whispers.

He’s not entirely sure if Cam is awake, is the thing. They never used to be plane buddies, but without being asked, the guys have rearranged their usual seating assignments to make sure Brandon and Cam can sit by each other. So now Brandon has Cam’s head pillowed on his shoulder, and his eyes are closed, but—

“What isn’t working?” Cam whispers back, not opening his eyes.

So: awake, then. 

Brandon sighs. “Uh, Operation Rainbow? It’s been like a week, and the guys have all been great, but the Swedes haven’t done anything.”

Honestly, great is an understatement. Absolutely nobody has given either of them any shit (aside from the chirping that means they really are okay with it), and Brandon’s had more back pats and butt slaps in the past week than he usually gets in a year. But every day he’s been waiting on tenterhooks for either Alex or Bill to make some kind of announcement, and every day, nothing.

Cam hums and turns his face into Brandon’s chest a little. Brandon thinks he might be wearing the cologne Brandon gave him. “You said yourself, it’s been like a week,” Cam points out in an undertone. “That’s not that much time, and anyway, everybody's gearing up for playoffs.”

“So you think they might not for a while? Like not this _season_?” Brandon asks, struggling to keep his voice down.

Cam says nothing. Brandon suspects he might be faking sleep, which is stupid; he knows Brandon better than that. Brandon lets him get away with it for about fifteen seconds, to lull him into a false sense of security, and then shifts sharply, dropping his shoulder a good six inches. Cam, jolted by the movement, groans.

“Why do you _care_ , Dubs,” he complains, rubbing at his eyes. “This is fun, right? And the team is cool with it. So we’ll just keep it up until they feel comfortable speaking up. Whatever.” Cam drops back onto Brandon’s shoulder again, then adds, “Now shut up and stop moving, I’m trying to sleep.”

Brandon’s a lot of things, but patient he is not. Maybe Cam’s right. He sighs, curls his hand around Cam’s hip again, and goes back to the movie he was watching on his iPad.

—

The problem is that even if Cam is right, Brandon can’t shake off the guilt. He tries not to think about it—it _is_ fun to do this stuff with Cam—but every time one of the guys chirps them good-naturedly, Brandon gets a little twinge in his gut. He’s supposed to be a leader, and he’s lying to the entire room, and that feels _wrong_.

So it’s really inevitable that when he goes out with a couple of the guys to blow off a little steam after the loss to Winnipeg (their fifth in a row, not that Brandon is counting), he instructs the Uber driver to take him to Nick’s house instead of his own. It’s not _that_ late, and they don’t play tomorrow, and Brandon has to tell _someone_ or he’s gonna go crazy.

Nick does not look happy to see his slightly drunk alternate captain on his doorstep at almost-midnight. “Can it not wait until tomorrow, Dubs?” he says, arms crossed.

Brandon crumples. “I—probably? I’m _sorry_ , I…” He can feel a lump in his throat, which is mildly horrifying.

Nick feels the same way about the situation if the way his expression changes is any indication. “Oh Jesus, come inside,” Nick says, grabbing Brandon by the shoulder. Brandon gratefully goes where he’s led.

Because he’s a great captain and this is hardly the first time someone’s come to his door, drunk and sad, in the middle of the night, it takes Nick no time at all to install Brandon in the comfy recliner in his living room with a mug of coffee. Then Nick sits across from him, pins him with a stare, and says, “Talk.”

“I think I’m a terrible A,” Brandon says miserably, staring at his coffee.

Nick recoils a little, frowning. “ _What?_ ” 

“I’m _lying_ to _everyone_ ,” Brandon adds. 

“Drink that, please, for both of our sakes,” Nick says, pinching the bridge of his nose. Brandon takes a drink; if he’s going to be a shitty leader, he can at least follow orders. “Another one,” Nick says, gesturing, and Brandon does. 

Satisfied, Nick nods at him. “What are you lying about, exactly?”

This is it. Brandon downs his coffee, sets the mug on the end table, and says, “Me and Cam. We’re not really dating. We’re— _pretending_.”

Nick—Nick does not look shocked or angry or anything, really. He raises an eyebrow and gestures for Brandon to continue. Brandon drops his head into his hands. 

“We thought, like—well, I thought, I guess. It’s my fault. I saw that picture Wenny posted of him with the pride tape, and Cam was like, _do you think he and Bill are gay together_ , and I was like _I don’t know, maybe_ , so we decided we would pretend to date to make it easier for them to come out if they wanted? And it was really fun, like, buying him stuff and going out to dinner with him and holding his hand, except now, we told the team and everybody was _so great_? Our team is _so great,_ Fliggy. But I’m _lying_ to _all of them,_ and it’s _awful_.”

“Are you lying, though,” Nick says, dry, which makes no sense. Brandon looks up at him, and he still doesn’t look anything other than a little skeptical. This is not at all how Brandon expected this conversation to go.

“Uh…yeah? I just told you, we’re pretending to date,” Brandon says slowly.

“Are you?” Nick says. “What part is pretend?”

“…all of it?” Brandon is _so_ confused.

“Well, did you really buy stuff for him?” Nick asks. Brandon nods. “Did you really go out to dinner with him?” Nod. “Did you really hold his hand?” Nod. “Did you really think it was fun?” Nod. 

Nick leans in, his expression a little crazy-eyed, like when he gets tagged in to take a faceoff in the o-zone and they’re down a goal. “So where’s the lie, Dubi?”

Brandon sits back, stunned. “Holy shit. Holy _shit_.” Nick looks like he’s trying not to laugh, but Brandon does not care right now. “I’m dating Cam! Like, I’m _really_ dating Cam! For real!” 

“Yes,” Nick agrees.

“I gotta go tell him that!” Brandon realizes. When he stands up, he's less wobbly than he was, but whether that's the coffee or the adrenaline is hard to say.

“By all means, share the midnight wakeup call wealth,” Nick says with a smirk. 

“Thank you, Fliggy,” Brandon says, giving Nick a bear hug. 

Nick laughs and slaps him on the back. “Go get your boy, Dubs,” he says. He even calls an Uber for Brandon, because he’s a great captain. Probably also because he wants him out of his house.

—

The minute the Uber pulls up, before Brandon can even knock, Cam opens his door and herds him inside. “Nick called to say drunk Dubi incoming. What did you do now?”

Brandon waits until they’re inside the apartment and the door is closed, because he really has sobered up a little bit. “I figured it out. We’re not fake dating, we’re just actually dating,” he says with a grin.

Cam—is not leaping into his arms with joy. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh?”

“Yes!” says Brandon emphatically. “We’re doing all the same things a real couple would do, and enjoying them, we’re just not doing the kissing part, so like, let’s do that and forget the fake thing.”

‘ _Yes, absolutely, Dubi, you’re the smartest man I know_ , _let’s do that right now,_ ’ Cam does not say, even though that’s what Brandon wants him to say. Instead of that, he keeps standing there, several feet away, and he says, “You’re not even gay.”

“Yeah, you said that before, and I don’t know where you’re getting your information from, but it’s wrong,” Brandon says.

Cam looks shocked now, which, like—at least that’s an emotion rather than just skeptical judgment. Brandon will take it. “ _What_?” 

“Well. Half-wrong,” Brandon amends. 

Cam is still staring, and for the first time all night, Brandon starts to feel a little nervous, like maybe he actually read this wrong. “You… _are_ having fun doing what we’re doing, right?” Brandon asks, scratching the back of his neck. 

Cam laughs, but he still sounds shocked. “Uh, yeah, I just—you’re bi?” 

“You’re still stuck on that? _Yes_ ,” Brandon confirms with an eye roll.

“Well, excuse me, I had no fucking idea! That’s why I agreed to this stupid plan, because I’ve had a crush on you forever and I figured this was the closest I could get to having what I actually wanted.” The second he finishes speaking, Cam looks like he wishes he could pull those words back into his mouth. 

His flushed cheeks are so cute, though. Brandon wants to touch them, and then Cam’s words catch up with him. “Wait. You had a _crush_ on me?” 

Cam groans. “I have terrible taste.”

“ _Forever_?” Brandon asks, a glint in his eyes.

“Remember that part where you suggested we kiss? Let’s do that instead of you being a dick,” Cam says a little desperately, and well—Brandon’s got the rest of his life to be a dick.

**Author's Note:**

> (For the record: Alex and Bill are not secretly dating, Alex just liked the way his arms looked in that picture.)
> 
> If you liked this, and you would like to listen to me lose my shit over Cam and Dubi on a fairly regular basis, you can find me on [twitter dot com](https://twitter.com/ungilded).


End file.
